


Indulgence

by deirdre_aithne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_aithne/pseuds/deirdre_aithne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From hp_sexstars 2012 fest, prompt#3 (Left by starstruck1986): #3 – Ron tries to keep his 'perversions' a secret in his vanilla, married life. He goes to a BDSM dungeon for release his wife can't give him, but he never thought he'd find his old potions professor dominating for money. Or that he would willingly pay up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to teas_me for the last minute and quick beta! It was appreciated, bb! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own, of course.

Ron leans against the bar with a cold Butterbeer in hand, taking slow sips from the bottle as he surveys the crowded club. _Indulgence_ is more crowded than his usual haunt, the mass of bodies filling the small dance floor to his right moving almost in unison and pressed so close together that it becomes hard to identify where one man ends and the next begins. On his left, the equipment stations are all in use save for one, and the floor around them is packed full with voyeurs. The only place where he has any room to breathe and just observe the new club is right here at the bar, where the only other people are the bartender and a couple leaning against the bar's opposite end.

He watches the couple for a moment as the Dominant encourages his submissive to take another drink of water, taking in the submissive's hazy look and unsteady wobbling that the Dominant counters with an arm around the man's waist to keep him on his feet. ' _Flying, then_ ,' he thinks to himself with a pang of jealousy shooting through him. Ron doesn't know who either of them are, and neither is quite his type, but he's jealous all the same, because they have something that he doesn't – that thing he's been desperately craving and seeking out for the past four years.

Someone to play with.

Not an easy-to-get one-night stand that Ron could find, and _has_ found, countless times while jumping around from one fetish club to the next. They relieve the thirst for a little while, but it's never enough. No, these two are closer than that. It's evident in the way the Dominant's hand is firm against the base of his submissive's spine, and the submissive leans into the touch without the slightest hesitation. There's a connection between them. Trust. Something built up strong over time and not given blindly after a little bit of negotiation.

Shaking himself, Ron takes another drink and pulls his gaze away from the pair, his attention drawn by a shift in the crowded scene area. He turns his head in that direction and watches as the crowd parts to let someone pass on his way towards the single empty space left, and Ron realizes with a frown that what he had taken for an empty piece of equipment was nothing more than a slightly elevated throne. The man splitting the crowd steps up onto the small platform around the throne, giving Ron his first good glimpse of a thin form dressed all in black, with dark hair tied back at the nape of the man's neck.

As the man turns, Ron's breath catches in his throat and he slowly lowers his hand to place his Butterbeer onto the bar. Severus Snape is the last person he'd have expected to see here, and yet Snape seems to fit in perfectly as he lowers himself down onto the throne. He crosses one leg over the other at the knee and settles against the back of the throne, resting his hands on the arms of it while his gaze sweeps over the crowd. A moment later, he settles his attention forward again and lifts one hand from the arm of the throne and gives a vague wave of his hand that is answered by a surge in the crowd as several people move forward.

"What's going on over there?" Ron asks the bartender with a nod towards Snape and the group of men forming a cluster around the base of his platform.

"That?" The bartender glances in Snape's direction briefly and then chuckles. "That would be one of the club's Dominants-for-hire. He's here maybe once a week, very sought after, so they like him to put on a bit of a display. Stir up a bit of added interest in the crowd."

"Is there any sort of procedure for approaching him?" He's not even sure why he's asking, and Ron refuses to acknowledge the knowing look he receives in answer as the bartender shakes his head.

"As long as your money's good, it's really all up to whether or not he likes you. He's rather choosy about whose offer he accepts."

With a nod, Ron picks up his Butterbeer again to drain the bottle dry. He sets it down a few seconds later and pushes himself away from the bar to make his way into the crowd. Ron tells himself that he's only curious as he winds his way between other patrons, his attention focussed on Snape's stern and – if he's entirely honest – intimidating expression where he can just make him out above the heads of the crowd. When he reaches the group hovering around the platform, however, his excuse of curiosity is shattered as he's able to get his first proper, up-close look at Snape.

His physical appearance hasn't changed at all since the war; he is still the same sallow-skinned, lanky figure, although in the lighting of the club, Ron cannot tell if his hair is still as greasy as it had once been. Snape's button-down is done up to the collar, keeping the scar on his neck Ron saw once during the trials safely hidden out of sight, even with his hair pulled back. Ron runs his gaze over him slowly despite himself, following the line of Snape's legs in his fitted trousers and lingering for a moment on his leather boots.

When he raises his eyes again, Ron finds Snape watching him, and for the first time since he was fresh to the clubs, he flushes beneath the gaze. He starts to take a step back, but stops when he sees Snape lifting his hand. One long finger points, and the heads of every man between himself and the platform turn to follow Snape's gaze to stare right at him.

"You."

It's all that Snape says, but he doesn't need to say any more than that with the command in his tone so evident. A small shudder rips through Ron as he only stares up at Snape for a long moment, until Snape quirks one eyebrow in expectation. He drops his gaze, then, but not before noticing several pairs of eyes still focussed on him from the other men who had actually been _trying_ to get Snape's attention. His feet carry him forward to the edge of the platform, and he watches with lowered eyes as Snape uncrosses his legs.

The same hand that had singled him out grasps his chin and tips his face up, the touch sure and firm, demanding his obedience. And with his breath quickening slightly, Ron gives it, allowing Snape to lift his chin without a fight and looking up to meet his eyes. Snape's appraisal of him is quick, but thorough, leaving Ron feeling as though he's been stripped bare, and the moment before Snape nods his approval is one of the longest of his life. His breath leaves him in an inexplicable soft sigh of relief when it happens, and Snape dismisses the still-gathered crowd with a wave of his other hand without looking away from him.

"Follow."

Snape releases him as he gives the simple command, and rises to his feet, not waiting for Ron to move out of the way before he begins descending the stairs. Ron quickly steps back out of his way before their bodies collide, watching Snape stride past him without a second look. He hesitates for a moment before he falls into step behind Snape, staring at his back as they make their way through the crowd and then dropping his gaze down to his feet when Snape stops at the top of a staircase that leads to a lower floor.

"The third door on the right, Mr Weasley. It is already open. You are to kneel on the cushion placed in front of the sofa, with your hands folded in your lap, and wait. I will follow in a moment."

Ron hesitates, looking at Snape with uncertainty in his gaze, but when Snape's gaze remains cool and patient, as though he's perfectly content to stand there and wait him out, Ron gives in and moves. He clings tightly to the railing as he descends the stairs, needing it to keep himself grounded until his feet are on flat floor once again. When he turns to glance back up at the top of the steps, Snape is gone, and Ron swallows.

He could leave now, if he was quick about it. Dash back up the stairs to the upper floor and slip right out the door most likely unnoticed. But then, he was fairly certain he could not return if he were to do so. Walking out after being accepted by the club's most desired Dominant would put him on uncertain terms with every Dom who frequented the place, and damage his chances of finding _anyone_ who would play with him. If he were to stay, however, and suffer through just one session, he could establish himself and find someone new the next time.

With that thought at the fore of his mind, Ron takes his decision and makes his way down the hall towards the third door on the right. Just as Snape had said, the door is open when he reaches it and turns the handle, allowing the door to swing inward and reveal the room beyond. To his surprise, the walls aren't cold stone or even painted black, as he'd begun to expect they would be. Instead, Ron steps into a warm and inviting room, with cream coloured walls and dark wood furniture. The leather sofa Snape had ordered him to kneel by is a dark shade of brown, and the cushion on the floor in front of it is emerald green silk.

After closing the door firmly behind himself, Ron steps further inside and takes in the bed in one corner of the room, the sheets crisp and clean. A low spanking bench is placed in the opposite corner, fashioned from the same dark wood as the bed frame and coffee table, with leather padding for the comfort of the submissive who might find themselves strapped over it. A small shudder ripples through Ron as he looks at the bench, and then his gaze flickers to a simple black rucksack placed on the floor beside the bench and he can't help but wonder what's inside it.

He stands in the centre of the room for a long moment, caught between the temptation to move and examine the contents of the bag, and the desire to obey the orders he was given and take his place kneeling on the cushion. At last, when he feels as though his time has all but ticked by him and he's afraid that the door will open any moment to reveal Snape standing there while he hovers between his two decisions, Ron moves.

Three quick strides carry him around the sofa, and he pauses for one last moment, wondering if he ought to remove his shirt, or at the very least, step out of his shoes before he kneels. But Snape's simple and direct orders repeat in his mind, and after taking a deep breath, Ron obeys them, lowering himself down onto his knees on the cushion. He sits back on his heels and folds his hands in his lap, bowing his head slightly just as the door swings open and the _thud_ of Snape's boots crossing the floor fills the room.

Ron hears the door finally swing shut just as Snape's boots cross into his line of sight, and he keeps his head and eyes down, looking to the floor while Snape takes a seat directly in front of him. Snape's legs are spread, trapping Ron between them, and Ron swallows thickly, clenching his hands in his lap as he realizes the implications of their positions. Before he can think to move or speak, Snape's fingers tuck beneath his chin and lift his face, the touch lingering until Ron finally flicks his gaze up to meet Snape's eyes.

Snape only stares at him for a long moment, until Ron begins to shift anxiously on his knees. Still, he only stares, not offering Ron any orders or clues as to what it is he wants, and with a frustrated sound, Ron drops his eyes as he brings his hands up to reach for the placket of Snape's trousers. Before even the tips of his fingers can graze the fabric, Snape's hands circle both his wrists and still him, and Ron hears a low _tsk_ of disapproval above him.

He jerks his hands free of Snape's grasp, and Snape makes no move to keep it, simply loosening his grip and allowing Ron's hands to slip free. "What do you _want_?" Ron snaps. His hands settle in his lap again, but now they are curled into fists in his sudden state of aggravation, and he narrows his eyes as he looks up at Snape once more.

"I want you to behave yourself and await my orders, rather than attempt to anticipate them."

The answer is so simple and delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone that Ron is stunned for one brief moment. His hands unfurl until his palms are resting flat against his thighs, and his glare disappears as he continues looking up at Snape with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. To his surprise, as he settles, Snape's hand reaches out to him again and this time settles in his hair. Snape's long fingers card through the ginger strands with a gentle touch that pulls a soft sound from low in Ron's throat, and Ron leans into the touch.

"Why did you pick me?" Ron asks after several minutes pass in the same manner. His eyes had begun to drift closed as the soothing sensation of Snape's hand moving through his hair continued, and he opens them properly again to look at him. "I wasn't even trying to get your attention, so why me over the twenty other blokes tripping over themselves for you?"

One corner of Snape's mouth twitches at the question. "Perhaps a part of the reason is exactly that, Mr Weasley. It can be quite refreshing to find a submissive who does not trip over himself to drop to his knees at someone else's feet." The hand in Ron's hair withdraws as Snape leans against the back of the sofa and continues. "I have several reasons for selecting you, Mr Weasley, but they are my own, and I have no intention of giving you the list. What I _will_ tell you is that I do not make my selections lightly. However, unlike the other men who came to try to capture my attentions for the evening, I do not believe _you_ were intending to offer yourself up to me?"

Ron shakes his head, and Snape inclines his own in a small nod.

"With that in mind, I will offer you an opportunity now to walk away if it is what you wish. I have no intention of forcing you, or anyone else to ever submit to me, and I expect you to either remain of your own free will, or leave immediately."

Despite the small voice in the back of his mind that tells him to move, Ron stays in place on his knees between Snape's legs and holds his gaze as he asks quietly, "And what will happen if I choose to stay?"

Snape is silent for a long moment, until Ron begins shifting anxiously in his seat. Finally, his lips twitch with the faintest hint of amusement. "Then we will play, Mr Weasley." He pauses, as though giving Ron an opportunity to consider his options one last time, and then asks, "What is your decision?"

Swallowing, Ron sits back further onto his heels and considers Snape for a few seconds longer before he lowers his eyes to his lap. "I'd like to stay... _Sir_."

To his surprise, Snape doesn't acknowledge his answer. Instead, Snape rises to his feet, and Ron looks up at him uncertainly, watching Snape stride around past him. He begins to move to his feet, but stills when Snape gives a sharp reprimand with his back still turned to him.

"Did I tell you to move?"

Ron purses his lips to bite back a smart reply and settles onto his knees again, continuing to watch Snape as he approaches the rucksack across the room.

"I expect to hear an answer when I address you, Mr Weasley."

"Sorry, Sir," Ron murmurs with a small wince. Snape only gives a brief hum to acknowledge that he heard the words, and then he opens the sack and begins considering the contents closely, his position preventing Ron from being able to see what's inside from his own place on the floor.

"I would like to make a few things clear to you before we begin," Snape says in a cool tone. He removes a thin rattan cane from the bag and taps it several times against his palm within plain view of Ron, and then sets it aside. "First and foremost, there will be no safewords in this room. I do not use them, and I will not allow _you_ to use them."

Snape turns with a short-handled paddle held in one hand, the broad flat of it thudding once against his hand as he tests it on his palm. "If you would like for me to stop, then you will say so directly. However, you would do best to keep in mind that I do not like to play games with these things. _If_ you ask me to stop, then I will stop. There will be no games of resistance or asking for me to stop without meaning it in hopes that I will bear down on you harder. You are welcome to ask for more if it is what you need, but the final judgement as to whether or not you will get it is mine. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Ron answers. His gaze focusses in on the paddle as Snape thwacks it against his palm once more, and a small shudder of anticipation ripples through him as the sound of it rings in his ears. Flushing faintly when he hears Snape hum, Ron raises his eyes to look at his face and finds Snape watching him with a trace of amusement in his expression.

"Stand."

Without hesitation, Ron rises to his feet, and Snape steps closer to circle around him. Even when Snape moves behind him, he can feel his eyes on him and clenches his hands at his sides in an effort to suppress a shudder. When Snape circles back around to stand in front of him, he stops and tucks one long finger beneath Ron's chin. His thumb moves to rub hard across Ron's lower lip and then presses against them, forcing Ron's lips open. Snape's thumb presses into his mouth, and despite himself, Ron's breath quickens as his tongue moves of its own volition to swipe over the pad of his thumb.

"Eager boy," Snape murmurs, and the words send a shudder of arousal through Ron. Pressing his thumb further into Ron's mouth, Snape leans closer to bring his lips beside Ron's ear and speaks in a low, rumbling tone, "Show me what you are."

Ron lets out a soft whimper and closes his lips around Snape's thumb to suckle it lightly. His tongue moves to circle around it, mapping out the digit and slicking it with saliva. After a too-quick moment, Snape's thumb slides from his mouth – it presses hard against Ron's lower lip and then slides down over his chin, leaving a wet trail in its wake before Snape fully withdraws his hand.

"Undress," Snape orders in the same low tone. "Fold your things neatly, and then lay yourself over the bench. Legs spread wide and arse raised high for me."

"Yes, Sir," Ron answers. His voice has a breathy note to it, and a faint heat begins creeping into his cheeks at the sound of it. Stepping back, he begins undoing the buttons of his shirt with ease, shrugging it off his shoulders when he's finished and folding it up before laying it on one arm of the sofa. Ron toes out of his shoes, and then his socks before removing his trousers, followed lastly by his pants. He leaves it all in a neat pile on the sofa arm, glancing at Snape for some sign of approval and quickly looks away again when Snape's expression is unreadable.

Crossing the short distance to the bench, Ron hesitates beside it to take a measured breath, and then takes the final step up to the edge and bends himself forward. He stretches himself out along the length of the bench with his hips resting against the leather padding, and shifts his legs wide apart. His hands reach out to grip the opposite end, curling tight around it, and with a murmured spell from behind him, Ron watches the leather straps of the bench close around his wrists to secure them in place.

"We'll begin with ten strikes with my hand, Mr Weasley. I expect for you to count them."

"Yes, Sir," Ron murmurs, just before Snape's hand comes down on him for the first strike. The second comes just a moment later, landing solidly against his arse and rocking him forward against the edge of the bench. He counts them out obediently, his voice steady as the third, fourth, and fifth blows land, and Snape pauses to run his hand over Ron's arse. Neither speak as Snape touches him, and after only a few seconds, the hand on his arse withdraws again and Ron braces himself for the next set of blows.

"Six," he gets out with the first trace of a hiss as Snape's arm swings with more force behind it, carefully aligning his strikes with those previous. Ron's count of 'seven' barely leaves his lips before the eight blow falls, and he winces with the ninth, stuttering on the number. There's another pause before the tenth comes, the seconds stretching on until Ron begins to alternately tense and relax against the bench in anticipation.

When Snape finally lets his arm swing again, his hand comes down with a solid _smack_ against Ron's flesh, the force of it rocking him forward again. " _Ten!_ " Ron gasps out, and this time when Snape touches his arse, he melts beneath the caress of his long fingers over the slightly tender skin. "Sir..." he murmurs, pressing back into Snape's touch, and Snape only makes a soft shushing sound behind him.

"There will be no more need to count, I think," Snape tells him at length, and Ron nods his understanding as Snape's hand moves away from him. There is a brief pause, during which he melts against the bench, before he feels the solid _thud_ of the paddle Snape had handled earlier come down on his arse. Ron lets out a low grunt as it comes again, the heavy weight of the paddle building a steady ache that seems to go deeper than the surface, unlike the sting of Snape's hand on his skin.

Three, then four, then five blows come down on him, until Ron moans from deep in his chest, the ache in his arse thrumming steadily as he waits for the next strike. The pause in Snape's actions stretches on long enough for the ache in Ron's skin to set in, and he nearly moves to look behind himself, wondering if Snape intends to stop entirely, before he hears Snape moving behind him again. He hardly has the time to process the whistle in the air before the thin strip of rattan connects with the curve of his arse and Ron jerks forward against the bench edge with a sharp cry.

Snape shushes him gently, and Ron settles when he feels Snape's hand stroking over his hip. Tears begin to spring up in his eyes when the cane comes down again, and Ron flinches away from the strike. The third strike lands lower, near the tops of his thighs, and a choked sound falls from his lips, while the fourth comes down to criss-cross where the first blow had fallen. Snape expertly places the fifth high on Ron's arse, and then Ron hears the rattle of the cane hitting the floor and sags against the bench in relief.

"There now, good boy," Snape murmurs as his hands begin roaming over Ron's skin again. Heat and pain thrum steadily in his arse, and Ron squeezes his eyes closed until the prick of tears in his eyes begins to fade away and he lets out a soft sound beneath Snape's touch. The heavy cadence of his breathing quickens after several moments, and he begins to rock back into Snape's touch until Snape's fingers brush along the crease of his arse and his breath catches in his throat with a stuttering moan falling from his lips.

" _Sir_ ," he breathes, and Snape's only answer is a low hum of approval before Ron hears a murmured spell. The second touch along his crease comes with slick fingers and Ron shifts his legs wider apart in silent offering as Snape slides his fingers between his cheeks. One long finger rubs circles around his hole until Ron begins to keen and rock back into the touch, and then he feels it press against him until the ring of muscle gives and Snape's finger slides slowly into him. Ron's head lifts up from the bench and tips back as he moans, his back arching as he continues to rock back against Snape's hand, and he feels Snape's free hand sliding over his hip and up along his side as his finger rocks inside him.

"Eager boy," Snape says not unkindly, and Ron nods without hesitation. "You want more?"

" _Yes_ ," Ron answers in a hiss as Snape's finger curls inside him and his angle shifts _just so_ , rubbing his finger over his prostate. "Yes, Sir, please." He whines as Snape's finger slips from him and then hears the _snap_ of Snape's belt opening and the shuffle of fabric behind himself, and a shudder of pleasure ripples along his spine as Ron melts further against the bench and raises up his arse in offering.

"Such a good little slut you are. Now, let me give you what you need."

* * *

"Can I see you again?" Ron asks as he begins lacing up his shoes. Across the room, Snape hums, and Ron lifts his head to look at him. Snape's back is turned to him while he packs things into his bag, his figure tall and lean and imposing even while dressed in nothing but black trousers. Ron swallows somewhat nervously and stands, crossing the room to stand beside Snape, close but not quite leaning into him. "Sir?"

"I am asked that question on a regular basis by many of my patrons, Mr Weasley, and I do not have an answer for any of them." The zip of the bag closing is harsh, and Ron flinches at the angry sound of it. When he looks up again, Snape's gaze is on his hands where they rest on his bag, and Ron sighs as he takes a step back away from him.

"I had thought maybe I could see you _without_ it being about money, next time," Ron says quietly. "Forgive me for presuming that was possible." Shaking his head, he turns and starts to take a step away, only to hesitate when he feels Snape's hand close around his wrist to still him.

"Mr Weasley-"

" _Ron._ "

"Ronald," Snape amends, and Ron doesn't correct him again. "Do me the courtesy of not treating me as though I am simple. I am well aware that you are in no position to be seeing me, or anyone else, romantically at this time."

Ron lets out a harsh sigh and that and starts to jerk his arm free, only to have Snape's grip on his wrist tighten.

" _Yes_ , I will see you again, if you wish. But until your other... _relationship_ is no more, then ours must be about business. I will be no one's dirty secret, and I am far too jealous and possessive a man to share you any other way."

Swallowing thickly, Ron stares straight ahead as he nods, a chill creeping up along his spine. "I understand," he murmurs, and Snape releases him. There is an awkward pause, during which neither of them moves or speaks, and then Ron looks over his shoulder at Severus, his expression torn. "I'll... I'll see you next week?"

Snape nods, and Ron does so himself as he turns away again.

"I... Goodnight, then, Sir."

Ron bolts from the room as quickly as his feet will carry him, and the moment he is out of the place, he Apparates to his home. Only a moment later, he finds himself in his bedroom at home, with the sharp _crack_ of his arrival ringing in his ears. Taking a ragged breath, he moves to the bed and toes out of his shoes, dropping his left hand quickly down and stuffing it into the pocket of his trousers when he hears a rustling in the bed.

"You're home," Hermione murmurs, her voice thick with sleep, and Ron nods despite knowing she can't see him. He opens his trousers and slides them down, stripping down until he's in only his pants, and then climbs into the bed behind her, tugging the duvets around himself. His left hand moves to settle on her waist, above the covers, and a thin ray of moonlight through the window glints off the gold band on his ring finger.

"How was your boys' night out?" she asks. As Ron presses close, Hermione snuggles back against him, and he leans in to kiss her neck, and hides a frown as he pulls back by burying his face in her bushy hair.

"It was good," Ron answers, and he sends up a silent thanks that Hermione is too tired to question the rough tone of his voice. He stays silent for several long minutes, until he hears the cadence of Hermione's breathing beginning to even out as she nears sleep again, and then he murmurs, "We're making it a weekly thing... if that's alright with you?"

Hermione's answer comes in the form of a soft hum and a nod before she burrows herself down further in his embrace, and Ron lets out a breath of relief. It wasn't perfect, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn't right. But it was what he needed for himself, and as his gaze flickered to the ring on his hand and he felt a strange mix of guilt and longing for both the woman in his arms and the man he'd left behind at the club, Ron knew he was just selfish enough to keep it up, at least for a little while.


End file.
